


Bloodline

by orphan_account



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Wolfenstein (Video Games)
Genre: And also caps a guy, And barhops for a bit, Gen, Jess rides a bike, Non-Graphic Violence, Typical Blazkowicz shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jess Blazkowicz has been doing this for too long to care what they're calling themselves. As far as she's concerned, it's another bullet for another nazi.





	Bloodline

**Author's Note:**

> Took a while, but I finally got this out there. This is maybe the first worm thing I've done in months so... here you go.

Count to four… inhale.

Count to four… exhale.

Even now, several decades since the first time she'd heard those words, it felt as though her father was still there, squeezing her shoulders and bringing her back to the present. Carbon steel grips held firm under tightened fists, and she maneuvered the bike between traffic.

A light drizzle was making a nuisance of itself today, so she was the only one on the road who wasn't tucked away in a car.

Boxy, square cars. All hard edges and sharp angles with obnoxiously loud engines and tires that needed repairs every few months. As a child, she hadn't been able to look away whenever she spotted a line of cars racing down the streets. It still amazed her that even 50 years after the second American revolution, the world at large hadn't come any closer to scratching the surface of what technology could offer.

Normal technology anyways. Tinkertech didn't count.

Hell, the old monocycle could still put most race cars to shame even after spending the last decade collecting dust underground. After all, if someone saw her zipping by on a giant tire they'd be pretty keen on taking it for themselves, and after her family had more or less managed to stay under their radar she wasn't interested in drawing the PRT's attention, thank you very much.

Another dive between a truck and a van brought a round of angry honking. Not even taking her eyes off the road, she simply lifted her arm and extended a single finger. No time for distractions, she had somewhere to be.

Although in fairness, she had definitely broken more than a few traffic laws today.

'_There's the turn.'_ She twisted the handlebars and angled the bike into the right lane, aiming at a side road heading toward the center of town. As much as she wanted to save time and head straight towards the restaurant, she couldn't just cruise into the finer areas of Brockton on her bike. As fond of it as she was, it was still a rusted piece of shit. It'd stick out like a sore thumb, surrounded by all the newly refurbished houses and immaculately set pavement.

With some luck she'd be able to find a relatively safe place to park while she took care of her business. Of course safe was relative. She'd done enough research on this city to know that just because you weren't in gang territory didn't mean someone wouldn't rob you blind once your back was turned. 

But she'd worry about that after she was finished with her appointment. It wasn't a big deal anyway; she was getting paid enough to buy a new bike and then some.

The neighborhood quickly gave way to stagnating buildings and disgruntled looking pedestrians. Supposedly this part of town stood as a buffer between gang territory and the richer element of Brockton, but judging from what she could see of the people's expressions, things had gotten pretty tough.

Everybody knew the reason why. Clashes between two of the local gangs had ramped up due to some personal business. Apparently a cape had killed somebody important and everything had immediately gone to shit as a result. 

Another instanceof capes making things harder for everybody else. Still, between a bunch of thugs masquerading as gentlemen and some nazis, she knew who she'd prefer to come out on top.

A booming crackle cut across her thoughts, and she refocused on the road. The weather was getting worse. If it kept going she might have to reschedule, which would scuttle her plans.

She renewed her search for a parking spot, scanning the streets for a good spot. Roughly five minutes in, she spotted a relatively populated parking lot in front of a shopping center. She couldn't help her sigh of relief; she was getting further and further away from where she had agreed to meet her contact, and the rain was getting annoying.

She cruised through the lot and smoothly entered an open space, free on both sides. The engine's rumbling purr abruptly cut out as she removed the key and stepped off. 

Jess rose to her full height and stretched, leaning backwards as far as she could go without toppling. "I use this thing for ten minutes and my back coils up like a damn slinky," she grumbled, contorting in search of the tactile relief that stretching always coaxed out of its hidey hole.

Once she felt more like a human than a children's toy, she circled around until she was behind the bike. From a distance it looked like she had a particularly wide seat in the back, but up close anybody would see the briefcase that had been stuffed under the seat and strapped above the wheel by a cocoon of velcro and leather.

Undoing them was always a hassle, but it was better than putting it on the front or worse, her back. 

She gradually undid the straps, pulling and untying the series of knots she'd tangled to keep the case tethered. It wasn't the safest way to hold her things, but it worked.

Soon enough the case was free. She tossed the straps into a nearby trash can, took in her surroundings with a short look, and began walking towards the point she'd agreed to meet.

Possibly feeling slighted by her lack of reaction, the skies crackled angrily with thunder, and the rain moved from bothersome to get under a roof right the hell now.

Swearing, she sped up to a jog. She wasn't the only one though. In the corner of her eye she could see pedestrians either power walking or full on _ running _ to escape the downpour. 

She had to force down a chuckle. It was dangerous enough moving quickly on regular concrete, but when it was wet? They'd be lucky not to bust their asses.

The world lit up for a split second, bathing everybody in light before the cloud cover reasserted itself in the space of a single second. The rain has bloomed into a full on storm in the span of forty minutes.

Her boots clopped on the ground as she pushed across the crosswalk. 

’I should have brought an umbrella."

+++++++++++++++++++

Jess slapped her suitcase further down the booth beside her, the seat making a loud plop. "You know, if you wanted to meet me, you could have picked a better spot," she said, sliding in until it was trapped against her elbow and the wall.

They were in some shitty bar she couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. Which probably wasn't uncommon, given the faded sign above the door.

The inside wasn't much better. The lights were dim and flickering every few seconds, the tables were faded and lined with scratches across the wood, and the music was coming from a damn jukebox of all things.

They'd chosen a booth at the far end of the room, away from the counter and windows. Call it paranoia, but the thought of a random passerby separated from her by a piece of transparent glass made her skin crawl. Knowing there was a wall at her back and at least one side let her breathe just a bit easier. 

Besides, if someone was watching her then they had to have some kind of x-ray vision, and at that point there was nothing she could do about it, so why stress?

She knew this bar was old, but they could at least put in some effort to get with the times. It was the twenty first century!

Her contact, a ratty, balding man named Carl, frowned across the table at her. "It's close enough and inexpensive. What more do you want?"

She leaned back and took an exaggerated whiff, eyes closed in mock concentration. After five seconds, she breathed out. "A bar that doesn't smell like shit for one," she said, ignoring the questioning looks from other patrons.

Carl looked distinctly unimpressed. "I'll try not to disappoint you next time," he said stiffly.

Jess smiled. "Thank you."

He rolled his eyes.

She chuckled, but couldn't help the concern welling up in her. Carl was never the most energetic guy, but he looked completely exhausted, as if he were a few seconds from collapsing.

Catching her look, he shook his head. No big deal, his eyes told her.

She knew why, but Jess knew better than to ask. Carl hated talking about his wife's condition since she'd been hurt, and she didn't want to spoil her day. Business was messy enough without having arguments with her allies.

She leaned forward, bracing herself against the table. "What have you got for me?" she asked, tone switching to pure professionalism.

Carl's eyes brightened. "So, I'm sure you know about Medhall, right?" he asked lowly. "I've been hearing rumors that the CEO isn't doing too well. Apparently his health is declining pretty rapidly, so the meeting they're holding tonight shouldn't last long."

"And that means…" She let it hang in the air unsaid. They both knew what it meant. Her grip tightened around the case. She nearly had all the pieces.

"What kind of car is it?" she asked instead.

Carl grabbed his beer. "Should be something fancy, at least 400 thousand dollars. I think it might even have a little flag on the top." he muttered, eyeing his drink.

She needed him to focus. "Carl," she said forcefully. "I need real intel. If we half ass this, it'll be both of our asses in the frying pan."

Carl eyed her, then tossed his head back, bringing the beer to his lips. He took three large gulps and slammed it down on the table. "You know what I know Blazkowicz," he growled. "I'm not one of his percent bootlickers. It's a miracle that I got this much. If that's not good enough for you then too bad, so take it or leave it." His voice had steadily lowered into a snarl. 

Damn, she didn't want to press him, but she had to get as much information as possible. Especially for such an important target.

"Alright alright, peace." She waved her hands up and down placatingly. "I'm sorry for pushing you like that. I understand how you feel." 

For a few seconds, Carl said nothing. Jess didn't dare open her mouth; the tension had swelled until it blanketed the table, and she knew her next action would make or break it, so she waited.

As much as it pained her to admit, she really appreciated Carl's help. He wasn't like her; he had a normal job, a wife and three children who he loved and did his best to take care of.

He hadn't done anything to deserve his wife getting a bullet to the spine because of a shoot out between some neo nazis shitheads and the police.

It wasn't fair of her to ask so much of him. He'd suffered plenty.

But still… 

Ultimately he was just another man doing his best to survive in a world overloaded with mercurial demigods. This sort of thing happened all the time because of the influence capes had on the world around them. Innocent people died every day because some clown with a superpower needed to massage their ego, or their flunkies were on a power trip.

This sort of thing would keep happening no matter what they did, so why not try and do something to mitigate it all?

Her hands curled into fists, fingers digging into her palms until she felt blood. As long as he was offering his services, she'd make use of him. She'd been doing this too long to throw away a useful asset so easily.

Jess blew out a sigh. "I'm sorry man," she apologized. She snickered at his jolt of surprise. He really wasn't good at hiding his feelings. 

Slowly, she leaned over to lay her uninjured hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly. "I'll get it done. Don't you worry," she promised.

Slowly, Carl relaxed. The muscles in his neck loosened, and he slumped back in his chair with a grunt. 

"Good," he grumbled. "Can I go now?" 

She gestured towards the door. "Be my guest."

++++++++++++++++

The storm had finally stopped, but suddenly without its indiscriminate torrent, she almost felt exposed. There was a comfort in knowing that everyone else was suffering the same fate, and being without the rain would make her that much easier to spot.

Jess knew she was being paranoid. She was on top of a four story building after midnight while wearing a pitch leather jacket atop a power suit with a stealth system equipped.

The odds of her being spotted were especially low, but she couldn't help the itch at the back of her neck.

You never knew with parahumans. One could have pyrokinesis but also know how to sense people by their body heat or some other bull. Still, she was a professional and she'd been doing this longer than some heroes had been able to walk.

She didn't bother checking the time. She could see enough movement from the silhouettes in the windows to tell they were finishing up.

Carl's Intel had been solid. She'd shown up thirty minutes before the scheduled time to get set up, and within fifteen minutes, increasingly expensive looking cars had begun pulling up to the Medhall building.

Eventually her target had made his entrance, in a car with white tires of all things. Which was fitting enough; for all of their other faults, nazis had a tendency for being tacky.

Almost time now. She took a deep breath and allowed her senses to fly free. A few dozen meters out, some street thugs were laughing too loudly to be sober. Underneath her feet, a single overworked employee snored in his desk while his co-workers lazed around.

And approaching the parking lot, a group of well dressed businessmen were shambling drunkenly towards their cars.

Jess steadied her heartbeat and aligned her rifle with one man's head. He was tall, and graced with the kind of rugged handsomeness that wouldn't be out of place in a magazine.

Despite broad shoulders and powerful frame, his movements were a fraction slower than those of his compatriots, but he hid it well. The average person would just chalk it up to age and move on.

As the scope settled between his eyes, her father's words passed through her mind. This time whispered and exhausted, muttered in his sleep when she had been young.

'_The old and the weak are doomed.'_

She pulled the trigger.

'_Eat the weak.'_


End file.
